


Rebound

by HarcourtHolmesII, Oky_Verlo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: FOR SCIENCE!!, Gen, Hinted Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, do not copy to another site, i'm only a little sorry, red head jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarcourtHolmesII/pseuds/HarcourtHolmesII, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oky_Verlo/pseuds/Oky_Verlo
Summary: When presented with a scientific curiosity, it is always in one's best interests to properly study all aspects of the curiosity, until no questions remain, testing all variables to ensure complete and utter understanding.That's Damian's excuse anyway.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Kudos: 77





	Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the Tags, I'm only a little sorry.

It is well known fact in the superhero community, and even in the community beyond it, that the BatClan can and will go to the furthest extremes for the sake of the mission.

A prime example being when Batman allowed the Joker to poison Bruce Wayne for the sake of protecting his identity.

Whether this is hyper-diligence or just utter stupidity is beside the point, as the results speak to the method’s effectiveness.

And it is a trait heartily shared by all members of the Clan, so when their minds latch onto a plan of action, they will stay the course unless a more efficient or effective plan becomes apparent.

* * *

It was during one of the few occasions that called the entire BatClan onto the Watch Tower.

For a few precious moments, Robin had been left not in the care of Batman or Nightwing, but somehow instead that of Green Lantern, who was in conversation with the Flash.

“All I’m saying is that it’s gotta involve some sort of magic or something, because there is no way they’re all naturally _that_ perfect!”

The Flash shook his head.

“You obsess over the strangest things Hal. Look, the Bats don’t have powers right? So they’re constantly training and-”

“But for all of them but the kid to have the sort of butts you could bounce a coin off of? Really Barry? You don’t think there’s something going on there?”

What a thing to say within the hearing of an impressionable young mind raised by the Bat.

* * *

When the BatClan returned to the Cave later on, Damian was still thinking about that statement as he packed away his uniform before heading to his room.

Raised within the depths of the League of Shadows, Damian had never heard such a description of the body, and he had yet to come across such in his civilian life either.

Though confused as to _why_ exactly one would project currency to another’s rear, Damian was curious as to whether it was possible.

But it was such a vague statement; did distance matter? Did the style or value of coin? Did the actual height of bounce matter or was it just that there _was_ bounce?

Pulling out a notepad from his desk, Damian started writing down the variables to consider to be able to achieve bounce.

In the end, Damian decide the most important things to consider were the distance from which the coin was thrown or dropped, the value of the coin, given the different metals and sizes affected weight, the position on the buttocks that the coin landed, as the full cheek would surely give more bounce than that of the side near the hip, and the resulting amount of bounce.

* * *

After setting out his parameters, really Damian had no choice but to conduct the experiment.

* * *

First, of course, was Grayson.

 ** _Everyone_** knew and was in agreement that Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, Nightwing, the first Robin, Squire to the Dark Knight, had the finest posterior in all of the Justice League and affiliated hero teams.

In the end, Damian was utterly unsurprised that Grayson passed all aspects of the tests.

“Oh come on; who is throwing coins at my ass?!”

* * *

Father was next, but only because Todd’s unexpected visit took up enough of the Bat’s attention that he wouldn’t think to go hunt down whoever was aiming coins at his hind-quarters.

Todd was tested immediately after while he was still present in the manor.

Both men did very well.

“Oh son of a bitch! That’s like the tenth time!”

“Language. But you’re right that it’s aggravating.”

“Oh don’t you start agreeing with me, you sorry fu-“

* * *

Cain was a tricky subject for the experiment, but Damian managed, albeit with a smaller sample size. A hasty exit may or may not have been necessitated after gaining the results.

“…I do not like … _this_.”

* * *

Fatgirl had been depressingly easy in comparison, but as she was deemed a member of the Clan, Damian would not skew the results by excluding her.

“ _Ouch!_ Oh, when I find out who is doing that-!”

* * *

As much as it pained him, literally _pained_ him to admit defeat, Damian could find no safe way to test Gordon, given she was always seated. Damian knew she still kept up some measure of training, but he had no way of reliably discovering when she trained, nor remaining hidden to conduct his tests should he stumble upon them.

“Does anyone know why Damian is glaring at me?”

* * *

Drake proved to be of an acceptable level on the tests, certainly above average, as one would expect given he was trained by the Batman, but also nothing overly exceptional.

And if Damian happened to take some personal delight in the application of coins to Drake’s backside, that was merely pushing the limits of the testing parameters.

“Shit! Who the hell is pelting coins at me?! I am not some sort of masochistic stripper!”

* * *

Once Damian had collected the results from his various tests, it was but a matter of moments to arrange it properly to best see the comparisons between the members of the Clan on a scale of one to ten.

To Damian’s surprise, it was not Drake at the bottom of the results at six out of ten; that place being held by Brown. Thinking on it however, Damian had to concede that it made sense, given that female bodies did _typically_ retain more fat, and the current Batgirl was also shorter than Drake, and did not train quite so fervently like the other active fighters of the BatClan.

Drake was second last, which was acceptable. Sitting on seven, Drake wasn’t overly impressive, but still well above average.

Cain sat at eight, not sitting higher because of, again, the female body’s tendency to retain fat, regardless of how properly she trained herself.

Father and Todd shared a position on nine.

That was perhaps the most surprising for Damian, and he had carefully reread the results of his tests to make sure he hadn’t muddled the data, but no, The Batman and the Red Hood were equals when it came to their derrieres.

And, sitting securely at the top of the pack, was Grayson.

Damian felt rather vindicated that his research confirmed what everyone said about the first Robin’s rear end.

* * *

Having concluded his experiments however, Damian wasn’t sure what to do with the results; he could hardly have them published, if for no other reason than Father would put an immediate stop to it, and really, though it had been educational in various ways (Damian felt far more practiced for the next time he had to undergo escape manoeuvres) it was not the sort of study that would readily benefit anyone who read it.

For lack of anything better to do with it Damian …

Kept it in his utility belt.

* * *

“And why, exactly, are we all going to the Watch Tower?”

Grayson smiled as he stroked a hand through Damian’s hair.

“B’s got a meeting with Wonder Woman and Supes, Tim and you have got to attend a debrief session with Young Justice and the Teen Titans, Steph and Cassie want to talk to Black Canary and Hawk Girl about something, I need to catch up with a few heroes to get some info, and Jason’s got nothing better to do than freak out everyone on the Watch Tower by being his Agent of Chaos self.”

The smug grin on Todd’s face as he pulled on his iconic red hood did nothing to dissuade Grayson’s words.

Damian sighed as he applied his domino mask.

The entire Clan arriving onto the Watch Tower was always made into a spectacle; if it had been shocked awe and humbled whispers, it would have been fine and bearable, but instead, there was a mix of exultant cheer, because the Clan was all there, and utter panic, because the Clan was all there.

It thankfully died down a little when they separated to attend their given tasks, but it was still infuriating to have to deal with it at all. However, Damian was a proud member of the BatClan, and he would behave as such, not allowing himself to react to such nonsense beyond a single dismissive huff.

The Young Justice and Teen Titan debriefs were quick affairs, merely an update for ongoing missions and refresher for gathered intel. Tedious certainly, but a necessary evil as it were for the continued success of missions.

Damian found himself in a conversation with Raven, one of the heroes he was able to have a decent conversation with, for a good while before it was interrupted by howls of laughter, loud queries and dare he say it, desperate bids for information.

Exchanging a glance with Raven, the two rushed to the main landing of the Watch Tower, finding a crowd of heroes gathering around one of the message boards.

Forcing his way to the front, Damian felt himself pale a little as there, posted on the board for all the see, were the experiment results.

A subtle check of his utility belt found the compartment in question open and empty.

Either he hadn’t fastened the compartment properly _(unlikely, but possible, much as he was loathe to admit it)_ or someone had managed to pick his pocket without him even noticing _(even more unlikely, as it was common knowledge that the utility belts were likely to have traps on random compartments, and Damian had full confidence his training had not let him down in this matter)_.

Either way, Damian’s **_handwritten_** test results were on full display, and as though summoned by the very thought, the voices of the Clan came ringing through the crowd.

“Okay, I am not surprised in the slightest that Goldie here is top of the list, I mean, we’ve all seen _this_ -”

“Why exactly does that require you to grope me?”

“But do I really have to share a spot with Batman? I mean, I’m totally willing to drop down a place, or have him drop down, not picky, but I really don’t want to be sharing a seat, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Oh come on! I’m only a six?! My butt is super perky! I mean, yeah, the guys’ butts are all better than mine, no arguments or complaints, but surely my butt is worth more than a six!”

“… I still … do not like _this_.”

“At least you got an eight Black Bat; that’s more than Red Robin.”

“Coins … were thrown at me.”

“Oh yeah, that majorly sucked, and I will be seeking vengeance-“

“Count me in on that BG!”

“Got it Hood! But you got a high score at least.”

“Honestly, if it weren’t for the bruises on my ass from all the coins pelted at me, I’d be impressed with the scientific method. There’s even a footnote on why Robin and Oracle weren’t included.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, there is, let’s see… _‘Robin has been deemed, by sources outside the Clan, as too young to be included in the testing, as it raises several ethical and moral concerns.’_ Fair call there, _‘Oracle has been excluded due to physical limitations of the body, and an inability to safely collect data.’_ … Yeah, I’m not gonna argue that.”

“Like you could; Oracle can and would destroy us regardless of the chair.”

A rough murmur of agreement rang through the gathered crowd, silencing as the Batman himself walked through the rapidly parting heroes.

A brief moment to examine the papers, before Father was pulling them down, storing them away in his own utility belt, and turning around to face the group.

“Do you not have somewhere else to be? If not, I can fix that.”

It’s awe inspiring just how quickly a sentence spoken in the Batman’s gravelly voice can clear a room.

A minute tilt of the head, and the Clan moves to leave, Batman pausing only once to nod to Superman and Wonder Woman as the Zeta Tubes warm up.

Then they are back in the Cave.

* * *

Damian expected retaliation when the results of his experiment came out, he did, given there was no way he wouldn’t be found out.

However much he may mock the others about their inferiority to himself and Father, none of the Clan are slouches when it comes to the detective work that so defines the Clan.

And Damian had, unwittingly, given them a glaring neon sign.

As the Grandchild of the Head of the League of Shadows, and the Son of the Bat, Ra’s and Talia had both seen fit to have Damian proficient, if not outright excelling, in everything that would be of import to his roles.

One of those matters was his penmanship.

Strict oversight to the forming of his letters and the fluidity of his calligraphy has given Damian’s handwriting an elegance and delicacy that he must work hard at to stifle in his civilian life, lest it become a solid link between himself and Robin.

All the Clan had some manner of hiding this sort of tell; Father purposefully gave Bruce Wayne’s handwriting an excessive _‘rich boy’_ flair in its loops and curls. Grayson slanted the letters differently to change the entire look of the words written. Todd changed hands, sometimes mid-word, to create one of the most distracting styles Damian had ever seen. Drake switched between cursive and print. Cain barely wrote, and Brown attempted to make her handwriting ever more outrageous, sometimes adding in symbols to represent words. Gordon, when actually writing by hand, was able to imitate thousands of different styles she had come across, and so never had the same handwriting.

A trick Damian wishes he had put in more effort to learn, as he once more feels the sharp sting of a penny connecting to his rear-end.

He had expected the retaliation.

He had.

But it would seem that the others had not been exaggerating when they had complained of the pain the coins could bring.

It had been ten days since the Clan had returned from the Watch Tower, and it seemed every moment Damian was not seated, bathing, asleep or on patrol, a veritable stream of coins were flung at him.

And of course, no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to catch the perpetrators in the act.

And it was always pennies. Always the smallest denomination of currency within the United States Legal Tender.

The thinnest and lightest coin, yet somehow, his Clan members were able to turn the small discs into formidable ammunition.

Damian’s backside was near covered with bruises and he knew that if he were ever to be so foolish as to complain to the others, they would simply regale him of their irritation during Damian’s tests.

Well, perhaps Grayson, with his overly kind and emotional heart, would take pity on Damian if he were to disclose just how pained his hindquarters had become, but Damian knew he would never allow himself, even to Grayson, to show that much weakness.

Damian had made his peace with simply living through the retaliation, collecting bruises like the coins that caused them, until the others bore of it.

It was then that Father stepped in.

* * *

Damian had been placing the latest handful of coins into one of the many jars he had procured from the kitchen when Father had knocked on his door, entering when bid.

The sheer bafflement on Bruce Wayne’s face would have been a delight to see and record to lord over the man, had it not been directed to the twenty or so jars collected on his biological son’s desk.

Running a hand over his face, Damian’s father levelled a flat stare at him, before moving to start picking up the jars.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

The dismayed confusion on the bank clerks’ face as she called in three other clerks to assist her in counting what amounted to exactly one million pennies, was glorious, especially once she was informed that Father had been looking for a television remote, and ended up taking the cushions off every couch, sofa and lounge in the manor, collecting the found coins as he did so.

But it also forced Damian to realise that in retaliation for his experiments, his kinsmen had thrown a sum total of ten thousand dollars at his rear end.

All in the smallest legal tender!

Were it not for the aches and bruises, Damian would be impressed with the pettiness.

Honestly, Damian was a little impressed anyway.

* * *

The others were called to the manor, seated around the dining table while the Patriarch of the Clan waited at the head.

Father only spoke once Todd had finally arrived and sat next to Grayson.

“I understand you were all annoyed by Damian’s … _tests_ , but the fact you have pelted ten thousand in pennies at him, is unacceptable.”

Todd started snickering.

“Today was gonna be the last day anyway; there are only like, ten banks in Gotham that won’t ask me questions about withdrawing a thousand in pennies. And I don’t feel like travelling outside of the city to go get more, no matter how much fun this has been.”

Damian glared at the older man as he continued to snicker, Grayson chuckling as he began to speak.

“Jason hasn’t even thrown any of the coins, he just supplied ammunition. And we all agreed at the start of this that if Damian asked us to stop before today, we would. Little D decided to stick it out, which, gotta say, I’m really impressed by.”

The rest of the Clan started laughing and speaking, Father occasionally speaking to one certain member or another, and Damian hunched a little in his seat in embarrassment, gently batting away Grayson’s hand when it ruffled his hair.

He wasn’t feeling proud that he had impressed Grayson.

He wasn’t.

Damian looked about the table, seeing Father shaking his head with an exasperated smile, Drake squawking over whatever Brown was talking about, Cain giggling with Gordon, and Todd draping his arm over the back of Grayson’s seat as Pennyworth brought in dinner.

A helpless smile curled his lips.

What utter nonsense.

**Author's Note:**

> Toodles and Love, Sincerely,  
> Oky Verlo, Harcourt Holmes II


End file.
